Probation and Parenting (part 1)
Stolen buses, table-throwing, and the horrors of sleep deprivation.
I joined The Probation Service in July 2017 with nary a grey hair on my head. In November that year, Louise gave birth to our beautiful son Joshua. Here is a snapshot from my life at the time.
“So, just to clarify, you stole a double-decker bus?”
“Correct.”
“Why, Darren?”
“It was cold, and I couldn’t afford a taxi.”
“How do you know how to drive a bus?”
“My dad used to be a bus driver.”
“Oh, well in that case…”
I have to say, I was quietly impressed. In the middle of the night, Darren had successfully stolen the bus from a depot and driven it 10 miles, without crashing, while under the influence of alcohol, heroin, and crack. He was arrested the following morning after a neighbour noticed it parked in the middle of the cul-de-sac and called the police.
“Can I trust that you’re not going to steal any more buses now you’re back in the community?”
“I’ll try my best.”
“And how about the drugs?”
“Um…”
“Have you taken any drugs today, Darren?”
“I’m not going to steal any more buses. That’s the main thing, right?”
This appointment was on my first day back after paternity leave. The previous night, a bawling Joshua had kept us up all night and I’d had, I’d estimate, 45 minutes of sleep and 7+ hours of being very stressed indeed.
Being sleep-deprived is a tricky one - you can mention it to colleagues and get a sympathetic smile but, let’s be honest, nobody really cares. You’re not ill, stop moaning. You are absolutely expected to just crack on for the next 8-9 hours even on days like this where I had a throbbing headache, felt like I was living outside my body, and every time I blinked, had to remind myself to reopen my eyes.
As much as becoming a dad was wonderful and I couldn’t love Joshua any more if I tried, it turns out babies are really, really hard work. Who knew? I feel guilty/a bit of a shit guy admitting this but, after two tumultuous weeks of poo, vomit, and tears (from me), there was a small measure of relief about getting going back to the office. Also, the opportunity to have a conversation with adults who weren’t berating me for putting a nappy on backwards or forgetting to sterilize a dummy was a welcome one.
Even if some of them were stealing modes of public transport.
“So, same time next week, Darren?” I said, stifling a yawn.
“Sure, can I have some bus fare?”
Come on now?
After Darren left, a man called Anton threw a table at me.
I’d asked him about his accommodation - there was a certain house he wasn’t allowed to stay at because he just kept stealing from the other person who lived there - and it lit the touch paper. He stood up, fists clenched, wild-eyed.
“I’m not listening to this shit.”
Then, in a show of strength belying his wiry frame, Anton picked up the table and chucked it at me, cracking me on the knee before storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him. I took a breath, rubbed my knee, and tried to compose myself. Was there anything to be gained from following him? I didn’t want anything else thrown at me today. I was too tired.
I got up and opened the door but couldn’t see him in the corridor, so hobbled down to the foyer and asked the receptionist if a very angry man happened to have walked past.
“Not in the past 20 minutes or so, no.”
Where was Anton? The corridors in a probation office are a maze and it dawned on me that he may have taken a wrong turn. After checking various interview rooms to no avail, I found him in a tiny room containing little more than the staff vending machine. He had shut, likely slammed, the door behind him and managed to lock himself in. By now, he was beyond furious, veins popping on his neck, pacing around. A caged animal among the Cup-a-Soup. I gingerly opened the door.
“Um, the exit is the other way…”
“Just fuck off, you lanky prick!” He shouted, storming past me with a firm shoulder brush.
What followed was a meeting with my manager where I called the police, and was advised that Anton would be transferred to a more senior colleague to consider if a prison recall was needed (it was. Throwing a table at your probation officer = risk cannot be managed in the community.)
This was music to my ears, but I was shaken up, and, following a sapping afternoon of wall-to-wall appointments, I was delighted when the day was finally over. Only the day is not over when you have a baby at home.
It is never over.
On the way back, I put on Desert Island Discs and willed I would hit a traffic jam for some respite before my impending parenting shift. Infuriatingly, a Google Maps search indicated that traffic was moving freely around the city, and I was home before Tom Daley had got to his book choice. I remained sitting in the car in the drive and took a deep breath. The next thing I knew, there was a tap at the window, and I looked up to see Louise holding a red-faced Joshua.
“What the hell are you doing, Andy?”
“Umm, nothing, I’ve just got back?”
“Why were your eyes closed?”
“I’ve had a table thr…”
“Honestly, right now, I don’t care. Take Joshua, please.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. The builders next door woke him up from his nap and he’s been in a terrible mood all afternoon.”
“Wonderful.”
The moment Louise handed him over to me, he burst into hysterical tears.
“Wait, where are you going?” I asked, noticing she had her coat on.
“For a walk.”
“Come on then, son. Looks like it’s me and you for a bit."
A now manic Joshua’s response was to scream, scratch me down the side of the face, then start hitting me repeatedly. The second time I’d been assaulted that day. This time, though, my attacker couldn’t be passed on to a more senior colleague.
Not until she returned from her walk, anyway.
*
Thanks for reading.
I’ve enjoyed some excellent multi-part pieces from other Substack writers - , and - recently, so decided on ripping this off adapting the idea and turning the probation/parenting stuff into a little series. Also, thanks to and for suggesting I write about this topic.
Please do take a second to like, comment, restack etc., and feel free to share your own tales re. the joys of work/life balance.
Obviously, names and some details are changed because, despite what this article might suggest, I enjoy my job and would rather not be sacked.
I love your writing, but can I also say thank you for doing such an incredibly important job. I'm sure the pressures are never-ending
This is great. I too am weirdly impressed that your guy managed to steal a bus while on heroine, alcohol AND crack. I don’t think I could contemplate driving a bus even while sober.